Nasty Feets, Part II

Porto Velho, Brazil

The next morning, I woke up, and my feet weren't any better. They weren't any worse, but they weren't any better. Shits. So, it was another five hour wait before we would arrive in Porto Velho and I could get a professional to look at my feets. I spent that time finishing up some photo album stuff and watching the scenery fly by. I felt a lot better than I did the night before, but I was still a bit worried.
Finally, we arrived, said farewell to Felipe, and ran off to yet another hotel room (Hotel Yarra). We got there, dropped off our stuff, and immediately hoofed it for the hospital. It was a surprisingly nice place. I was expecting it to be a little more rustic given that we were in kind of an out-of-the-way town in the Amazon basin. But, it was clean and cool, with plenty of helpful nurses and prompt service. In about fifteen minutes, despite my difficulties with portuguese, I was able to get into an exam room with a cheerful spanish-speaking doctor.
After I explained my symptoms, he did all the normal doctor stuff; checked my breathing, my pulse, looked at my throat, etc. He quizzed me about what I had been eating and drinking, how often had I been urinating, and if I had had a fever. All the good stuff. The whole time he was talking to me, nurses kept coming into the room and sitting down in chairs, or leaning against the doorframe. They would occasionally giggle and talk to each other. By the time he finished the exam, there were five nurses in the room smiling at me and clucking their tongues at my big clown feet.
Finally, the doctor pronounced that I was having some combination of an allergic reaction and water retention. (And now that I think about it, I think he was right. In the 48 hours that passed between the Pantanal and Porto Velho, I only peed twice and I never pooped (thanks to the Imodium). So, basically, everything that should have left my body ended up in my ankles. Awesome.) The solution was to take an antihistamine and something to make me pee out all the bad stuff. This meant I needed to get three shots (antihistamine, pee-thinger, and a blood test, just to be sure).
Normally, I hate shots. Then, reading through all these travel books, they're always on you about the dangers of needles while traveling because they might be infected with all kinds of nasty things like AIDS, so make sure they always use a fresh one. I was not look forward to getting three. The nurse who was in charge of administering these lovely little pokes was very nice though, and gave me an understanding motherly smile the whole time. Even when I had to undue my belt and drop trou so she could give me one in the ass. That hurt. I had never had a buttshot before, I had only seen them in the movies and on TV. And everyone always reacts the same way, with a squinty jolt and a sharp intake of breath. I freely admit that I did that too, but only because I always do what TV tells me.
Anyway, after all that, I was released from the hospital with instructions to return at 5pm for my blood test results. Mike and I made our way back to the hotel. The anti-histamine shot had some sort of sleeping agent in it, so I fell asleep as soon as I hit the bed and didn't wake up for a good three hours. When I finally did fade back in, my feet were reduced to a less comedic size, and I was feeling alright. I went back to the hospital for the final answer, and the Doc gave me the thumbs up. My blood tests were fine, and my feet were returning to normalcy. He gave me a prescription for some anti-inflammatories and some more anti-histamines and sent me on my way.

Now, I'm sitting in my room in the hotel having just enjoyed a nice streetside "hot dog" while watching The Scorpion King dubbed in portuguese. Tomorrow, The OC takes a boat ride up a tributary of the Amazon and the only part of me that's sore or swollen is my butt.

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ps... Here's a side-by-side comparison of the normal feet and the clown feet. This picture is to be used for educational purposes only.